


An Empty Page Remains an Empty Page

by Brokenpitchpipe



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gavin is Fine With It, M/M, Michael is Relationship Phobic, Oneshot, Queerplatonic Relationships, Swearing, late night editing, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:21:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25725016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokenpitchpipe/pseuds/Brokenpitchpipe
Summary: “I guess I’ve just come to terms with the fact that I’m not gonna find anyone. But I’m dreading the dayyoudo.” Michael put his head in his hands. “That is the gayest shit. Jesus Christ.”
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	An Empty Page Remains an Empty Page

**Author's Note:**

> “A person who wrote badly did better than a person who does not write at all. A bad writing can be corrected. An empty page remains an empty page.” -Israelmore Ayivor
> 
> (if this was u hmu and i'll credit)

The fact that Michael’s hands were wrapped around Gavin’s throat was unsurprising, to say the least. 

Michael physically attacked Gavin on a weekly, if not daily, basis. It didn’t matter the cause, whether it was an annoyance caused in-game or in-real-life, but one of the common sights around the Achievement Hunter office was a squealing Gavin running for his life— and probably tripping over his own shoes— with Michael in hot pursuit. 

On this particular Wednesday, Michael hadn’t even given chase. 

“Guhck,” Gavin said, as Michael’s thumb pressed against his windpipe. 

“You dense motherfucker,” Michael hissed. “I don’t give a _shit_ that you saw Mamma Mia last week. If you don’t stop singing ABBA I am going to pry your eyeballs out with a _plastic spork.”_

“But— Michael—” Gavin managed. 

_“But Michael,”_ Michael mimicked, finally letting go. Gavin coughed, and Michael would have felt bad, but they harmed themselves on a pretty regular basis around here and choking Gavin for ten seconds was hardly the worst thing Michael had ever done to him. So instead of feeling remorseful, he scowled. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Someone’s grumpy today,” Gavin muttered, rubbing his throat. 

Ignoring him, Michael carried on with his threat. “If I hear a single _oo pa pa,”_ he warned.

Ignoring him, Gavin cocked his head to the side. “What’s got you in such a bad mood, hm?” 

“Fucking— nothing,” Michael spat, already turning on his heel to go. “Leave me alone.” And maybe he should have left, then, but shouting at Gavin was the closest thing he was gonna get to actually _dealing_ with stuff, so he turned back on his heel. “Why does there have to be something? It’s _fine.”_

“Well, because usually you’re just fun-grumpy,” Gavin said, as if that was a term in the Webster’s dictionary that any reasonable person off the street would recognize. “You know, where you’re not really upset, but you act real moody.”

Michael took a deep breath. He crossed his arms, realized it looked stupid, and uncrossed them again. He thought about walking back to the door, realized _that_ would look stupid, and yanked a chair out from under the desk, not caring how loud it was. Gavin was the only other one here; they were the only two people working late tonight. 

“It’s fine,” he said again, crossing his arms because who the fuck cared anymore, right? “It’ll _be_ fine,” he corrected himself. “I’m just mad at some stupid shit.” 

Gavin pushed away from the table, abandoning his editing completely. “What is it, then?” 

Michael sighed. In for a penny, in for a fucking million dollars. It really was stupid— but on the other hand, it really was Gavin listening right now, so Michael knew whatever he said wouldn’t leave this office if he didn’t want it to. And he also knew that, stupid reasons or not, Gavin would listen to him. 

“Jeremy showed me some pictures,” Michael said into his arms. “From his anniversary last week. Of him and Kat.” Each fragment came out as its own sentence, sharp and tight and angry. Goddamn it, his jaw was already starting to ache. “It’s not, like, a super important one, just the four-year,” he added, at Gavin’s look of blank confusion. “Still. M’ gonna die alone. So. There’s that.” 

Gavin’s face split into a picture-perfect painting of pity. His bottom lip stuck out, his eyebrows knit together, and his eyes did that dumb shiny thing that made him look somehow even stupider and more pathetic than he already was. 

Michael felt the anger already beginning to ebb away. 

“Aww,” Gavin simpered, “you’re not gonna die alone, Michael!” 

“Yeah, I am,” Michael said firmly. “Not, yknow, _tomorrow,”_ he added hastily, just in case Gavin started reading too far into it. “Just— someday.” 

“Nah,” Gavin said, shaking his head easily. “No way, you won’t.” 

“Listen, I appreciate the optimism.” Michael let his arms relax a bit, and realized his fingers had been digging into his biceps since he sat down. He shook one of his hands out, hoping his fingers weren’t about to start cramping. “Not gonna change anything, though.” He sighed. “Just let me be angry at the world— specifically, at _you—_ for a couple days, all right?” He tried to smile. “I’ll take you out for bevs to make it up to you later, all right? Promise.” He tried to smile again, and actually managed it.

Gavin clearly hadn’t been paying attention, because he waved Michael’s words aside like they weren’t important. And if he’d listened, then he’d have known that they were, in fact, incredibly important and also very true. 

“You’ll always have me, boi,” he said, as though it was the most obvious fucking thing in the world. Michael’s blood simmered. 

“Come _on,_ dude, be serious,” he groaned. “You’re a famous British dude living in America. I’m surprised you’re not married off already.” It came off like a joke, which was good. The last thing Michael needed was for Gavin to find out that yes, in fact, Michael worried about this all the fucking time. He decided to push his luck. “You’ve gotta have, like, fifty chicks lining up outside your door every day.” 

“Don’t need ‘em,” Gavin said, shaking his head again. And then it was his turn to fold his arms, though he crossed them loosely, as if he just wanted something to do with them that wasn’t fiddling around with his mouse and risking accidentally deleting an entire day’s worth of work. 

And then he _looked_ at Michael, and said, “I’ve got my Michael here. Duh.” 

And that— 

And Michael— 

And everything just— 

Michael shoved away from the table and kicked his chair, sending it rolling off towards the door. He tugged his hair, like that would help the building rage that was already shooting from his chest to his fingertips. It always fired off white-hot like this, inescapable, driving impulses to grab and tear apart and punch and shout and—

“What the _fuck are you talking about,”_ he shouted, kicking the chair again. It bounced off another chair, nearly toppling it to the ground. Gavin didn’t so much as flinch. “You’re not gonna just— fuckin’— hold off on pairing off with someone, just because _I’m_ here— I mean, sure, yeah, we’re gonna be friends forever—” God, Michael hoped, but there was always that little part of him that said _okay yeah sure but like what if—_ “—you’re gonna find someone eventually and marry off and— okay— okay maybe this is what I’m actually—” 

Everything was a hot mess, and Michael was the goddamn plate. Gavin treated him with stunned silence, which was probably appropriate, seeing how Michael had stormed in here yelling about ABBA five minutes ago, and was now on the edge of tears yelling about _this_ shit. 

Michael sank back into the chair, which was halfway across the room. He scooted it back to Gavin’s desk, wondering why the hell he hadn’t jumped ship and just gone home already, like a sane, normal person would have done. 

Well, there was his answer. 

“What d’you mean?” Gavin asked, like it was as simple as fucking that. 

And maybe it was. When it came down to it, Michael’s process usually went: 1. Word vomit, 2. Analysis. He just usually skipped the second step. He’d made it just fine so far, why bother changing it up now?

But Gavin was asking, for some godforsaken reason, and Michael was here, and he could either turn around and walk away and feel miserable for another week straight, or… 

“I guess,” he said slowly, and thought again. “I guess I’ve just come to terms with the fact that I’m not gonna find anyone. But I’m dreading the day _you_ do.” He put his head in his hands. “That is the gayest shit. Jesus Christ.” 

_“Aww,”_ Gavin said, which was not helpful at fucking _all._

“You tell anyone and I kill you,” he said, hands still firmly over his face. 

“Aww,” Gavin said again, and laughed a little. Michael’s heart did that stupid thing it always did. “It’s just between you and me,” Gavin said. He didn’t need to add _I promise,_ they both knew it was there. 

Michael dragged his hands down his face, trying not to look like he felt: physically and mentally exhausted. Talking about your feelings was fucking— okay, there was only one word for it, _exhausting._

“I’m still mad,” he said, glaring directly at Gavin, who beamed back at him. The glare softened. “But, thanks,” he added. He sat back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling, groaning. “Ugh, this is so _stupid._ I’m being stupid. I’m sorry.” 

Gavin tutted, crossing his legs into Michael’s lap. “You’re not stupid. But there’s no reason to be grumpy. You’re not gonna lose me, I’m not about to run off with someone else.” 

“Sure,” Michael agreed, “not right _now._ But, yknow.” He made a vague gesture with his hands. _“Someday.”_

“Hmm,” Gavin said, like he was thinking. Michael knew better. “Don’t think so.” 

“God— fine— I’ll bite.” Michael finally looked him in the eyes. “Why not? You seem, like, weirdly sure about this?” 

“Well, for one, it’d make my Michael all grumpy and sad.” Gavin stuck out his tongue, making a face like he was looking at a dead rat. Or some wet bread. 

Well, no, not quite as bad as the bread. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Sure, like I’m your first priority.” 

“Yep.” 

Michael stared. “Gavin, cmon.” 

“What?” 

“Be serious.” 

Gavin took his legs back, pushed his chair in, and grabbed his mouse. Michael wasn’t fooled for a moment, and sure enough— “Why are you so sure you’ll be alone, anyway?” 

“You’re changing the subject, Gavino.” 

“Answer me, though,” Gavin said, still looking at his monitor. 

“Just— because, all right?” 

“Because why?” 

Michael wanted to tear the sun in half. He settled for tearing at his own hair. It hurt, and it didn’t come out, and it left him angrier than when he’d started. Just like every fucking other thing he did when he was angry, fucking great, fucking perfect, he’d just have to ride it out until it fucking stopped, like he always fucking did— 

“Because I don’t— I’m fucking bad at relationships, all right?” he said at last, and he’d expected it to come out loud and angry but it came out a little quiet and sad and honest instead. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed, but it didn’t. “I don’t do relationships like everyone else does. I don’t… go out on dates and shit. I’d be the world’s worst long-term partner.” He sighed. “The closest I’ll ever get is just a dumb crush that’ll never go anywhere.” He felt like kicking at gravel, like they were talking in an abandoned playground on a pair of swingsets, and also twelve years old. “Gay, sad, and alone forever. Like I said.” 

Gavin still hadn’t clicked his mouse once, which meant he was definitely listening. Or doing the Gavin-equivalent of listening, anyway. 

“What’d make you so bad at long-term stuff, anyway?” he asked. “You’re lovely,” he said then, and Michael’s heart did the stupid thing again. “You get up weirdly early in the morning, I mean, but other than that, lovely.”

Michael sighed. It was too complicated to put to words, at least right now, but he was going to have to try. “Relationships take, like, work,” he said. Yeah, put that down in the relationship bible. _Like, work._ Fucking fantastic. “Work, and compromise, and long, uncomfortable communication. And a shit ton of other stuff. And I’m fucking _bad_ at it.” 

“Might not be, with the right person,” Gavin said. He moved the mouse, but still didn’t click it. 

And Michael let himself think about it— about the _it_ that he tried not to think about every hour of every goddamn fucking day. There was a lot of stuff he didn’t let himself think about very much, but right now he was sad and gay and lonely, even though Gavin was literally a foot away from him, and he _wanted_ to think about it, so fuck it, he was gonna. 

He let himself think about it for a full minute before he felt something against his ankle. Gavin’s foot brushed against his own, and he wanted to just yank it back up onto his lap, because they did that all the time, and it wouldn’t be weird, right?

So he did. And Gavin let him. And for another minute he just sat and thought about it some more, and he was grateful Gavin was looking at his monitor even if he wasn’t really working, because it meant Michael could smile while he thought about it and Gavin wouldn’t see. 

And then he sighed. “Yeah, well,” he said, tugging himself back into reality, “that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.” 

Gavin finally abandoned the monitor. “Well, until then you’ve got me. We’ve known each other how long, now?” He raised an eyebrow— or at least tried to. It was adorable. “We’ve been doing just fine.”

Michael let Gavin see him smile. “Yeah,” he said, “until then. Thanks, boi.” He sighed again, tipping his head back against the chair and staring at the ceiling again. “Hey, no offense, but here’s hoping you never find anyone else and stick with me forever.” He raised his hand into the air, toasting with an invisible glass. God, vodka would be nice right now. “Don’t ask why, or I’ll be mad at you for two weeks straight and that’s a promise.” 

Gavin scoffed. “You’d never be mad at me that long. Go on, then, why?” 

Michael dropped the hand onto his face. It was kind of remarkable how often he found his face in his hands whenever he was around Gavin. Remarkable, but not surprising. “I hate you,” he muttered. “Oh my god, I fucking hate you.”

And Gavin punched his leg. “No, you don’t! Tell me.”

 _“No._ Suck a dick.” 

“Please?” 

And there it fucking was. Michael had to close his eyes, because if he looked Gavin in the eyes right now he would crack, and then everything would be fucking ruined forever and he’d never have his best friend back again, and he’d have to quit his job and move to fucking L.A. and pick up a job editing for a Youtuber on the weekends and stocking groceries Monday through Thursday. 

He opened his eyes and looked straight at Gavin. 

“Gav, please let it go?” he said quietly.

“No,” Gavin said. Which meant Michael was _fucked._

“I’m serious,” he said, hugging his chest instinctively. “This isn’t, like, _‘I’m gonna be mad at you forever, raaah,’_ or some bullshit, this is— I don’t—” He had to take a breath. “I don’t wanna fuck things up. So please, just leave it.”

And Gavin looked straight back at him. “You’re not gonna mess anything up. Promise.” 

“Yeah, okay, but I absolutely fucking will.” 

“Nope. You won’t.” 

“Gavin, stop fucking around— “

“I’m not!” Gavin abandoned the mouse, grabbed the table, and scooted his chair until they were less than a foot apart from each other. “I’m not stupid, Michael. So talk to me.” 

And Michael did break, then. Gavin grabbed his shoulder and that was it, that was the last little barrier he’d made for himself and it was gone, and he couldn’t look at Gavin’s face anymore. He settled on looking at Gavin’s chest, which was the closest he was going to get, probably for forever, if he ended up saying all of this. 

“I just… don’t want to lose you,” he said. “And if that sounds gay as fuck, it’s… because it is.” 

The words were so heavy, and so hard to say. His mouth tried to reject them a hundred times over before they came regardless, as the truth always did, as the truth _always_ did, sharp corners and black-and-white and unforgiving— 

“‘Kay, so quit worrying about it then, boi,” Gavin said lightly. “It’s gay, got that. You’re not going to lose me, I’ve been _saying_ that.”

Michael blinked at Gavin’s shirt. And then he blinked at Gavin’s face. Gavin was open and smiling and looking right at him like nothing in the world was wrong. And Michael could almost start to believe that. 

“And, what, you’re just—” He tried to find words, and managed to scrounge up a couple from a dusty filing cabinet in the back of his brain. “You’re just _fine_ with that?” 

“Yes,” Gavin said. 

“And you’re… not gonna go looking for anyone else,” Michael finished, saying it slowly just so he was sure Gavin knew what he was actually saying. Because if this turned out to be some big shit-fest misunderstanding, then Michael was going to actually murder someone. Figuratively. 

“Nope,” Gavin said. It sounded like he took immense pleasure in popping the ‘p’ as he shook his head. “I’ve got my Michael here, duh. Turns out he’s just a bit slow on the uptake.” And he learned forward and pecked Michael’s cheek. 

Michael slapped him. 

Not on the _face,_ obviously, just on the arm, and not hard enough to actually seriously hurt, but enough to make him yelp and pull his arm back and look up at Michael all sad-eyed and confused. 

“Don’t give me shit about being slow on the uptake— I’ll give you shit about being the _world’s worst communicator—_ what the fuck kinda signals did you think you were giving out? Seriously, though,” he added, seriously, “you wanna be bois for the long haul? Is that what you mean?” 

Gavin’s face shifted from abject horror to grotesque delight from the beginning of Michael’s rant to the end, and at the question he nodded, reaching for Michael’s hand. Michael let him take it, even though hand-holding in general wasn’t really his thing. If it was Gavin’s, then it was gonna be at least _kind of_ his thing from now on, anyway. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to get past being fussy about the gay thing for a while,” Gavin admitted, looking down at their hands with a stupid-dumb fond smile. Michael’s heart did the stupid thing again, only this time it didn’t feel stupid and it started to feel more like— well, he didn’t know what. But it was much, much better already.

“Yeah? Yes?” 

“It just took you a while to accept it. What else was I supposed to do?” 

“Yes or no, Gav, my head’s gonna fucking explode.” 

_“Yes,”_ Gavin said, laughing. “Yes. Bois, boyfriends, _boi-_ friends, whatever.” 

“Bois,” Michael said immediately. “Bois, yeah? That good?” 

“Yeah,” Gavin said. 

Michael sighed. “You coulda just said so, dumbass.” And for the first time, he actually leaned over and kissed Gavin’s cheek, instead of just _thinking about it_ for fifteen minutes straight and then realizing that he’d just wasted fifteen minutes and Geoff was probably gonna kill him, except not really, except maybe a little bit _actually yes, really._

Right— work. The entire reason they were here. Michael’s monitor had gone to sleep, and the video he was rendering wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t be able to concentrate on editing anymore anyway, not with Gavin sitting in the same room, not after _this._

“Okay,” he said, standing up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

Gavin blinked. “That’s it?” 

“What did you want, a parade?” Michael snorted. “Listen, lemme get through this mental crisis, all right? I gotta get used to being happy about this instead of, yknow. Not.” 

“So dramatic, boi,” Gavin murmured, shaking his head all exasperated. It looked fucking _weird,_ coming from him. “You didn’t have to be so sulky for so long. Not like I was hiding how I feel about it. You just liked being blind.” 

It was a jab, and maybe an hour ago Michael might have blown up, but right now there was something euphoric coursing through his veins and he just didn’t fucking _care._

“I was busy being gay and sad, don’t judge me.” Gavin laughed at that, and then Michael laughed, and then they were both laughing for a little while and Michael couldn’t remember the last time he couldn’t breathe because he was laughing this hard. It was probably, like, last week or something, but still. 

“You coulda been busy being gay and happy instead,” Gavin finally said, once they’d both calmed down. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Michael wiped his eyes and grabbed his jacket, feeling for his keys in the pocket. “For real, though, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll take you for bevs after work. We can… talk.” 

“Not much we gotta talk about,” Gavin said, because apparently he didn’t like Michael’s amazing closing line and wanted the spotlight for himself, the bastard. “I say we just add on to how we’ve always been.” 

_“Fine,”_ Michael said, starting to walk backwards towards the door, “then we’ll just have normal bevs, and if anything comes up we can talk about it, and if anything doesn’t, then we won’t.” 

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to worry about getting too touchy,” Gavin said, and Michael wanted to throttle him again. 

“I worry about everything, so jot that down,” he said, reaching the door. 

“So this is one less thing you have to worry about so much.” 

“Gavin, I now have a _thousand_ more things I have to worry about,” Michael said, and slammed the door.

Gavin's laughter followed him to the end of the hallway, out the door, and all the way home. 

**Author's Note:**

> mavin is one of my ships that will lie dormant for eons and then emerge, intense and insatiable, for two weeks straight  
> aka quarantine has me revisiting old obsessions, i wrote a gd [gravity falls fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25520884) and i have a 100 page hp fic in my docs, send help god please send h


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